Starious felt the blinding beam of power dissipate in his hands. Clutching his blade tightly he turned his attention back to the group clothed in dark robes, glaring at the remaining three figures. His knuckles went white and his hands began to burn at the sheer intensity of his grip. How dare they try to hurt his family! They were his life, his soul and he'd rather suffer eternal damnation than let these heathens harm a single hair on their heads.
"You only draw yourself to doom, Starious." A voice that seemed to come from the child mocked him. "That sword is reserved only for the most honorable bloodlines, ones that deserve to pass their sword down to the next generation. You have desecrated that oath, rogue, and our trial has found you guilty."
"This so called trial," Starious responded. "This punishment reserved for criminals, you dare place upon me? What he was doing was against all of what we stood for and you know it!" The figures were quiet at his outburst. A deathly quiet, one that was so silent that he could hear his heart beating faster and faster, waiting in anticipation for his opponents to strike.
A sick feeling overcame him after a minute had passed. He suddenly became aware of a faint cry coming from behind him, one that reminded him of the time his youngest child had been left alone in the dark by accident and had cried until its eyes were red and the tears had begun to dry around his face. The worst feeling was that his wife and him felt was that they didn't know he needed them, that he was alone and exposed to whatever horrors that lurked in the dark. He whipped his head behind him and shouted, eyes widening at the grotesque creature that had wrapped itself around Kerrisan like some sort of hellish serpent. It's eyes were a sickly yellow pair of orbs, mesmerizing him to a point where his body seemed to numb and his heart went still.
The creature swayed back and forth, Starious following its motions like a reflection, like dumb struck prey that stares at its predator in a confused and hypnotized manner before being torn to pieces. "Interesting isn't she? The basilisk seems to have taken quite a liking to your Kerrisan." A figure from behind the basilisk shook his head at him, hand stroking the monstrosity like some sort of pet. The man was of the same build and height as Starious, dressed in a twisted jester’s outfit and a decorative mask with a permanent smirk on it. A smirk that mocked his inability to do anything to strike him down and save his wife. Beside him was the largest figure that had come to arrest him, a giant of a man that held his children inside a rusted metal cage. His daughter tried to console her crying little brother while his eldest son sat close to them, arms around the two's bodies in an effort to protect them.
"I don't think you're in the position to ask questions, murderer." The masked figure walked jauntily away from the monster and put his hands on his knees, poking his son through the space between the cage. To Starious's surprise it was his daughter who reacted, moving between her brothers and biting down on his finger. The masked harlequin shook his head before pulling his finger out of her mouth, the girl screaming and wiping her mouth from the greenish liquid that came from the man's torn finger. "Seems your daughter shares your violent streak Starious." the masked figure chuckled as her twin brother wiped the green blood from her sister's mouth with his shirt while their youngest sibling continued crying.
The robed figures all dropped to one knee and bowed their heads to the masked man and greeted him in unison. "Master."
"These people are too easy to control," he said, waving his arms for his subjects to rise. Starious felt the sweat trickle down his face when he cringed. There was someone he knew who was able to influence the minds of the highest order of his clan. Now it all made sense. The power of suggestion, the creature that he controlled, and the mask he wore jogged a forgotten memory in his head of the man. A memory of a fighter and his clan that threatened the well being of his own. A memory of a dead man.
Starios ground his teeth and forced himself to look in the man's direction. "Phobos." he hissed before his attention was turned back to the basilisk and the limp figure in its coils. The masked man's shoulders moved up and down as he laughed, removing his mask and revealing his face. What should have been a youthful face with a single scar across his face was a terrible and charred piece of flesh with eyes, mouth, and nose. The grin on his face was horrifying, flesh being stretched and opened to reveal most of his jaw and teeth.
"In the flesh," he said. "Well at least most of it. The pieces that haven't been burned off by your blade, slaughterer. Or do you prefer clan slayer? How about family killer?" his grin faded when he said his last sentence. "You heard your clan Starious. That sword belongs to the family of noble blood. And once I'm finished taking care of that second problem, your blade is mine." His looked over to his basilisk and made a cutting motion with his throat.
"No!" Starious screamed.